


Nights When The Heat Had Gone Out

by madasthesea



Series: Somebody Loved [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, F/M, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Episode: s01e06 FZZT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 17:38:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3618420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madasthesea/pseuds/madasthesea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times Fitz and Simmons fell asleep together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nights When The Heat Had Gone Out

 

 

i. 

“Fitz, the door’s locked.”

Fitz turned from carefully packing away his tools and stared at her.

“What do you mean the door’s locked? It can’t be locked, we’re still in here,” he said like it wasn't obvious.

“I realize that, Fitz, but I’m pushing the handle and it’s not opening,” she replied, annoyance growing by the second. They’d spent their entire afternoon and a good portion of the night working on the D.W.A.R.F.s and she really just wanted to get out of the lab and into her warm, comfortable bed.

“Well, Simmons, we’re just going to have to pick the lock.” He came over, hands on his hips and stared at the lock like he was mentally preparing for the task.

“Oh, Fitz! Just because you saw it in a movie doesn’t mean you can actually pick a lock.”

Fitz opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off.

 “Let’s just call someone to get us out,” Jemma suggested, pulling her phone from her lab coat pocket, then made a sound of dismay. “Oh, my phone’s dead.”

“Mine’s dead too,” Fitz said, checking his own. “We’ve been in here for like seven hours.”

“So, we’re stuck in here?” Simmons confirmed, hoping she got a different answer.

“Apparently,” Fitz shrugged, going back to his tool case. His lack of concern only made her annoyance grow.

“What are we going to do?” She huffed, sitting on her stool and crossing her arms.

“I think our only option is to wait.”

“Brilliant.”

He looked up at her, observed her posture and pout for a moment, then said “You should sleep.”

“I’m fine,” she said stiffly, turning her back and pretending to look busy.

“Simmons, you’re exhausted. You’re looking at an empty petri dish,” he observed. She had the good graces to look sheepish.

“If you haven’t noticed, Fitz, there is nowhere to sleep.”

“Ah, yeah…” He sighed, then sank to the floor, leaning his back against a cabinet. “Come on.”

She was too tired to argue, she decided, and went to sit next to him. He shifted closer to her once she had settled and with one gentle hand, pulled her head down to rest on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and tipped his cheek against her hair.

“We’re going to be so sore in the morning,” Simmons muttered.

“Yep,” he agreed quietly. “Goodnight, Simmons.”

“Night.”

The professor who unlocked the door was extremely surprised to find them asleep on the floor the next morning, though the students craning to see over her head were all more occupied with taking pictures.

(He finds a copy of the picture in her wallet a couple months later.)

 

 

ii.

The heat was broken in their apartment. Fitz probably could have fixed it in five minutes while blindfolded, but when he had asked the landlord to unlock the room the furnace was in, the balding man had cited some regulation, glared at Fitz with beady eyes, and walked away. Fitz warmed up a bit as he stormed back up the five flights of stairs and paced, cursing, in front of the bundle of blankets that had swallowed Simmons whole.

They both shuffled off to bed soon after Fitz finished turning the air blue, tea warm in their stomachs for a few moments.

“Don’t freeze to death,” Fitz said in lieu of a goodnight.

 He doubted he ever got to sleep, but he was roused from his daze of shivering by Jemma opening his door, in sweatpants and a hoodie, three blankets around her shoulders.

“Fitz, it’s too cold,” she muttered as she crept closer and saw him awake.

“I guess I could give you one of my blankets,” he said slowly, already mourning its loss.

“Don’t be silly. Let’s just share.” Fitz hoped she didn’t see his eyes go wide in surprise.

“Umm…” he mumbled. She seemed to shrink a bit under her blankets.

“We’ll never get to sleep if we can’t stop shivering,” she added hopefully.

“Right, of course. Come on, then.” He scooted until his back was pressed flat against the wall to give her room on the narrow bed. She shuffled over, tossed her blankets on top of his, then hurried under the covers before all her warmth escaped.

She settled next to him slowly, flat on her back, and he could feel the mattress move with each muscle she forced to relax. He was regretting his position on his side, facing her, but didn’t want to move and get any closer. He was wondering if he should say something, though he had no idea what or why he felt speaking would ease the awkwardness, when finally the heat of the extra blankets and Jemma just inches away penetrated the cold and discomfort.

He sighed happily, feeling almost warm for the first time all day, and melted into the mattress gratefully, his eyes closing. He heard a huff of breath from next to him and he forced his eyes back open.

Jemma was watching him and the light from a streetlamp shining through the window illuminated her face just enough to see her smile. He smiled back.

She stretched, turned onto her side, absconding with one of his pillows.

“Goodnight, Fitz,” she mumbled.

He settled onto his back, and turned his face toward her.

“Night, Jem.”

He wakes up too hot and with Jemma’s hair in his mouth, but she’s sprawled half across him and clutching his arm, so he doesn’t move.

(The heat is fixed two days later and his bed feels so empty he’s tempted, just for a moment, to go and break it again.)

 

 

iii.

Their textbooks are sitting open on the floor, one of Fitz’s projects tipped on its side, Jemma’s microscope still with its light on. Neither of them had bothered cleaning when they had at last finished their respective final projects, just immediately gravitated to the kitchen for a celebratory midnight (3 am) snack.

Fitz was happily crunching on popcorn while Simmons munched on a peanut butter sandwich, each slouched on the couch with their back against the armrest. Jemma’s bare foot occasionally slipped off the edge and she would replace it between Fitz’s sock-clad ones. He said nothing, just slowly inched his foot away until he could push hers off the edge again.

Simmons finished her sandwich and stared at her empty plate for a moment, as if calculating how much energy it would take to carry it to the kitchen sink. Too much, apparently, because she just set the plate on the floor, curling into a ball right where she sat. Fitz nudged her foot. She nudged back, then pushed her toes between the couch cushions.

Now that his hunger was sated, he thought not moving from this couch sounded like a very good idea. He knew he should get up, put his stuff away, sleep in an actual bed, and knew he should tell Jemma to do the same. But instead he just stretched his legs into the space between Jemma and the back of the couch, tipped his head back, and slept.

Jemma was shivering when he woke up three hours later, and that position couldn’t have been good for her back, so he scooped her up and carried her to her room, almost tripping over her microscope on the way.

(Later she mentions that she was so tired she didn’t even remember going to bed and he just laughs and doesn’t tell her.)

 

 

iv.

“What’s wrong, Fitz?” Jemma asked wearily when he slid her door back for the second time that night.

“Nothing. Sorry.” He closed the door and went back to his own bunk, slipping between the sheets and settling down to sleep.

Twenty minutes later he was inching her door open again, hoping not to wake her, but when he peeked in, she was watching him.

“Sorry,” he said again. He figured she knew what he was doing and he was glad she wasn’t going to make him explain.

“Come here,” she said, lifting her blankets in invitation. Fitz hesitated for a second, but he gave into the temptation after a moment.

It’d been awhile since they’d shared a bed, but they arranged themselves easily and Simmons was asleep within seconds. Fitz shifted the inch needed to touch her and followed quickly.

When he woke up again, Jemma was watching him with tears in her eyes.

“Jemma?” he rasped. “What’s wrong?”

“You…” she trailed off, looking confused. “You were screaming, Fitz. You don’t remember?”

He shook his head, but he had been screaming in his dream, too. It made sense.

“Sorry,” he tried, unsure of what she wanted him to say.

Simmons sobbed, wrapping an arm around his waist and hooking a foot behind his ankle, and pulled herself to him. He received her easily, holding her tight against him while she cried.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered into his shoulder.

“I know,” he replied. “Me too.”

She took three, deep shuddering breaths until her shaking subsided. When she seemed calmer, he whispered “No more skydiving” into her hair. She hiccupped a laugh and nodded. Fitz loosened his arms, but she stayed where she was, muscles loosening beneath his hands.

He still dreamt of her falling and still jolted awake often. But he didn’t scream again. Not even in his dream.

(He dreams of it even months later, but he never tells her. Sometimes he thinks she knows anyway.)

 

 

v.

It was day five of Fitz’s coma and no one else was available to take the watch. And she wasn’t going to leave him alone. She read him the rest of the article about the droid on Mars, her eyes burning with each blink. She sighed, dreading another night in a chair.

After falling asleep three times and jolting awake because she was falling out of the chair three times, she gave up and slid onto the bed with Fitz. It was uncomfortable. She had to lay on her side and the metal railing pressed against her back. But it was better than the chair. And she could feel Fitz’s heartbeat below her ear and his heat against her skin.

“Wake up, Fitz,” she told him, then slept.

(May finds her like that in the early hours of the morning and shoos her off to her own bed. Jemma pretends she doesn’t hear her tell Fitz that he has to wake up for her.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Somebody Loved" by the Weepies.


End file.
